Chapter 9 - THE WOMAN EVERYONE THOUGHT WAS INNOCENT“YOUR MOTHER? VINCENT, YOUR MOTHER HAS BEEN DEAD FOR TWELVE YEARS.”
For several seconds, Vincent said nothing.
Then he answered:
“I know.”
I sat motionless in Nathan's car.
Margaret Moretti.
The elegant woman whose portrait hung above the fireplace at the family estate.
I had never met her.
She died long before Vincent and I married.
Richard spoke of her with reverence.
Vincent almost never discussed her.
And now her name had appeared in documents connected to missing employee money.
“How could she control Northbridge?” I asked.
“I don't know. The records suggest she was associated with the company before her death.”
“Associated how?”
“Through a family trust and several holding entities.”
Nathan listened silently beside me.
Vincent continued.
“Claire, my father always told me my mother had no involvement in business. He said she preferred charity work and raising our family.”
I remembered Margaret's portrait.
The pearl earrings.
The gentle smile.
The expensive blue dress.
“She may have been involved without your knowing,” I said.
Vincent took a shaky breath.
“Or someone used her name.”
That possibility frightened me even more.
Because if Richard had been willing to use his dead wife's identity, there was almost nothing I could assume about the company's history.
I promised Vincent that Nathan would help coordinate the preservation of relevant documents, while Vincent obtained his own independent legal representation.
Then I ended the call.
Nathan looked at me.
“Margaret Moretti?”
I nodded.
He stared ahead.
“This is becoming an investigation into a long-running financial structure, not a single questionable loan.”
“Do you think she was involved?”
“I don't know. We need facts.”
I appreciated that Nathan never pretended certainty.
The Morettis had spent years telling me what to believe.
Nathan helped me understand what could actually be established.
The following morning, we met Rebecca Shaw again.
She examined the newly recovered materials and requested additional corporate records.
Within several hours, she identified an important connection.
Northbridge Capital Services had once been owned by a trust established for Margaret Moretti.
However, the trust's administration had changed several times.
Some records showed transfers after Margaret's death.
Others contained signatures attributed to her during a period when she had been seriously ill.
Rebecca frowned.
“It's possible these were authorized arrangements. But the timing requires verification.”
Eleanor leaned forward.
“Thomas suspected Margaret's name was being used.”
I turned toward her.
“You knew?”
“Only that he thought something was wrong.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Eleanor looked ashamed.
“Because I never had proof, and I didn't want to make accusations about someone who couldn't defend herself.”
I understood her hesitation.
But I also felt exhausted by the number of people who had decided what truths I was ready to hear.
“Eleanor,” I said gently, “please don't protect me by hiding things anymore.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I won't.”
That afternoon, a courier delivered a sealed envelope to Nathan's office.
Inside was a handwritten letter from Richard Moretti.
It requested a private meeting with me.
No attorneys.
No reporters.
No Vincent.
At the bottom, Richard had written:
There are things about Margaret and your father that you do not understand. I am willing to tell you everything if you come alone.
Nathan read the letter and shook his head.
“Not a chance.”
I agreed.
“Then let's offer a meeting with counsel present.”
Nathan sent a formal response.
Richard refused.
An hour later, he called me directly.
“Claire.”
His voice sounded tired.
“Richard.”
“I received your attorney's message.”
“Then you know my conditions.”
He sighed.
“You've turned a family disagreement into something much more dangerous.”
“No. Someone used my property without my permission. That was dangerous before I discovered it.”
He was quiet.
Then he said:
“Your father and I were friends.”
“I know.”
“I trusted him.”
“So did I.”
Richard's voice hardened.
“He betrayed me.”
I felt anger rise.
“My father tried to protect employees whose money was missing.”
“You don't understand what happened.”
“Then explain it.”
He exhaled.
“Margaret made mistakes. Serious mistakes. I spent years trying to correct them.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did she steal the money?”
“No.”
“Then what did she do?”
Richard hesitated.
“She authorized investments that collapsed. People lost money. The company faced obligations it couldn't meet.”
“And you concealed that?”
“I protected the company.”
“By blaming Daniel Carter?”
Silence.
I continued.
“By threatening my father?”
“Claire—”
“By using my house as collateral?”
Richard's voice shook.
“You think everything is simple because you've never had five thousand employees depending on your decisions.”
I stared at the wall.
“Those employees deserved honesty, Richard. They weren't props in your family empire.”
He said nothing.
Then he whispered:
“If the truth comes out, the company could collapse.”
“Then the truth should have mattered before the money disappeared.”
I ended the call.
For the rest of the afternoon, I felt strangely hollow.
Richard had finally admitted that Margaret was connected to the financial problems.
But he still spoke as though protecting the Moretti name justified everything.
That evening, Vincent arrived at Nathan's office.
I hadn't seen him since our confrontation at the estate.
He looked exhausted.
His expensive suit was wrinkled.
Dark circles surrounded his eyes.
He stopped when he saw me.
“Claire.”
I nodded.
“Vincent.”
For several seconds, we simply looked at each other.
Then he said:
“I spoke with my father's longtime attorney.”
Nathan gestured toward a chair.
“What did he say?”
Vincent sat down slowly.
“He confirmed that my mother signed investment authorizations for Northbridge.”
I swallowed.
“And?”
Vincent looked directly at me.
“He also told me that she discovered the financial problems before she died.”
My heart tightened.
“What happened?”
Vincent placed a small envelope on the desk.
“Apparently, she left a letter for me. My father kept it hidden.”
I stared at the envelope.
Vincent opened it with trembling hands.
He began reading silently.
Then stopped.
His face lost all color.
“Vincent?” I whispered.
He looked up.
Tears filled his eyes.
“My mother knew Richard was going to blame Daniel Carter.”
I covered my mouth.
Vincent continued.
“And she wrote down the name of the person who ordered the records changed.”
I leaned forward.
“Richard?”
Vincent slowly shook his head.
“No.”
He placed the letter on the table.
May you like
The name written near the bottom was one I recognized immediately.
Eleanor Price.
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